You’re a sight for sore eyes,
Butterflies take flight,
Signaling I’ve lost the fight:
Cupid might be gone,
But only after he did me wrong,
Piercing me with poisoned arrow.

Cupid’s been shot dead,
By you, who he never did get to.
You’re flawless, unhurt,
And if it weren’t for him,
I wouldn’t be filled with rough ragged rawness;
He caused this.
And maybe it’s justice,
But I can’t dismiss my distress,
At feeling like there’s a lot to be missed,
Without him. Without love.